The clubhouse looks different in daylight.
Still rough. Still dangerous. But less like a nightmare and more like a place people live with bad choices and strong coffee. A few men sit at the bar. Someone is frying bacon in the kitchen. Lottie and Brittany stand near the main table with bags of supplies, looking like they are trying very hard not to fuss over me.
They fail immediately.
Lottie hands me a sack. “Toothbrushes, wipes, snacks, socks, and a couple shirts that might fit you until we get to a store.”
“I can pay you back.”
She waves that away. “Honey, I stole half of it from the clubhouse pantry and the other half from men who deserved it.”
Brittany hands August a small juice box. “Not expired.”
Sophie looks at her.
Brittany sighs. “Probably not expired.”
August takes it. “Thank you.”
The women melt.
Derby mutters, “He’s weaponized manners.”
Legend stands near the front door.
He looks like he hasn’t slept. Rain-dark hair. Hard eyes. Cut on. Phone in hand. President first, maybe-brother somewhere under it, still trying to find shape.
His gaze moves over August, then me, then the bags in Derby’s hands.
“Sophie told you?” he asks.
I nod. “About Derby’s house.”
His eyes flick to Derby. “You good?”
Derby’s jaw tightens. “Everybody keeps asking me that.”
“Answer.”
“Yes.”
Legend studies him for one second longer, then looks back at me. “Derby’s place is secure. Oaks and Wildcat checked it. Two prospects will be posted off-road where you won’t see them unless you need them. Whiskey is working Vale. Sophie has your phone situation handled.”
“My truck?”
“Getting fixed.”
“I need it.”
“You’ll have it.”
Not maybe.
Not we’ll see.
You’ll have it.
I nod, unsure what to do with that kind of certainty.